One Among Our Number
by Frankie and Avery.dont ask
Summary: The Great Arthur Castus can only take so much, even from Lancelot, before there are consequences that must be faced. Slash A/L, Two Shot. Pre-movie. unbeta'd. not very good. OOC
1. Part 1

**Un-beta'd. First Arthur fic, but not even close to my first fic. Oh dear god no. lol. **

**In all the Lancelot/Arthur stories I've read, Lance gets to hit Arthur or goad him or whatever, but Arthur never responds. He never gets pushed past him limit like Lance does ever other minute. And Lancelot is always super overly confident all the time. Which I think is partly to cover his weakness and partly to compensate for his slighter and more angular build. Less he-man-ish. So here is my response to that. **

**Even the Great Arthur Castus can only take so much, even from Lancelot, before there are consequences that must be faced. Slash A/L**

**One Among Our Number**

The sun was still blazing overhead, though it did little to relieve the chill in the autumn air. A sharp wind curled its way over the Wall, biting into the skin of the newly arrived knights. Blood and filth and bits of flesh littered their armor and exposed skin. Dismounted and leading exhausted mounts the small group headed for the stable. On among them stood out from the rest, his posture erect and stiff, the wind whipping at his red cape. Arthur walked proudly, even as the weight of his men's lives sitting heavily upon his shoulders. Across the back of his horse, the body of a man was slung. Arthur carefully avoided looking at the prone figure.

Lancelot did not notice this reluctance, nor did he see the pain in his commander's eyes. All the younger Sarmatian saw was the blood of his brother splashed across the ground at Arthur's feet. Handing off his horse to the stable with a glare that could freeze mead, he turned on his heel. Stalking across the yard, he grabbed Arthur by the shoulder, interrupting his quiet conversation with Tristan, and spun the taller man to look at him.

"Yes, Lancelot?" The commander's voice was tired, saying clearly that now was most definitely not the best time.

The tone of his voice set a spark to Lancelot's anger. "Are you proud of what have done this day, Castus?" His own voice was deceptively even.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Lancelot never used that tone of voice. Not ever. "I am not sure I understand you."

A sneer twisted Lancelot's full lips. "I asked if you were proud of what you have done? Are you pleased that another barbarian has died for you precious Rome? Do you smile at the Sarmatian blood at soaks the soil by your command?"

Arthur's face tightened and his back stiffened. "Lancelot, you know very well that I do not—"

"What I know, Castus, is that you are a Roman who keep getting my brothers killed. You are proud that with every Sarmatian life that is taken another pagan soul may be saved for you God." As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, Lancelot realized that he had pushed Arthur too far. Every man had limits and Lancelot had forgotten Arthur's for a moment.

He was reminded of them sharply when the back of Arthur's leather clad hand connected abruptly with his cheekbone. His head snapped and he had to fall back a step to stay standing. His black eyes were large as he stared at his commanding officer.

"Do not ever dare to suggest that I have any desire to see my knight, my brothers-in-arms, die for any reason. You should know better then any that I would free every man in my charge if I believed that could return to their homelands unharmed." He took a step forward and seized Lancelot by the iron studded leather armor he wore. Pulling the shorter man forward, he forced eye contact. His usually soft green eyes were cold, blazing emerald. "If I ever hear you utter anything that implies that of me, I will tie you to that whipping post and lay 30 lashes into your back myself. Do. You. Understand. Me?"

From the moment Arthur had backhanded his second, the entire courtyard had frozen, watching the events unfold. Now, even the wind had silenced itself, waiting. Arthur's words had carried through the yard, sending a shiver down every back. No one in that yard had ever seen the quiet commander that angry. Caught in that terrifyingly frozen rage.

Arthur shoved the smaller man away from him, as if he could not longer stand to touch him. Lancelot stumbled and fell backward, still staring up at his friend. The Sarmatian seemed stunned, unable to speak. Arthur took another step, towering over the dark-haired knight, who remained on the ground. "Am I understood?"

Arthur's voice was cold and distant, very much like the men who had taken Lancelot from his family as a child. He shuddered visibly, but nodded. "Yes" The taller man turned and made to leave when Lancelot called out to him. "Arthur!" The Roman turned back to find Lancelot still seated on the ground, braced on his hands. His eyes were still wide, a touch of something mingled with the slightest hint of fear. "I apologize for my thoughtless remarks, Commander. I was out of line."

The courtyard held its shocked breath. Lancelot never apologized for anything to anyone. Not ever and especially not in front of the half contingent of knights. Arthur regarded him for a moment, allowing the pain to seep into his eyes, before silently turning and taking his leave.

Lancelot dropped his head to his chest for a brief moment, before rising and exiting the courtyard. Once he reached the shadows of the inner hallways, he allowed the tears to fill his eyes. He had spoken out in anger, trying to flay Arthur with his words. He knew exactly what would set the commander off. He had never crossed the line that would provoke that kind of reaction before. He was not truly certain why it have today. Maybe the scars of battle were still too fresh. Lancelot had seen the pain in Arthur's gaze only when it was too late. The dark-haired knight curled on a window seat, pained gaze trained on the slowly darkening sky.

Arthur was the one person, the one thing, on this gods-forsaken island, and possibly the damned world, that kept Lancelot away from the edge. He was uncertain what lay beyond, in the abyss of his own battle-rage, but he did not want to find out. Arthur was his anchor. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to keep fighting when he was just alienated Arthur? He knew it would happen. It was inevitable. He'd told Arthur that. He let his head fall back against the stone, as brief thoughts of provoking the Woads enough to kill him flicker through his head. But no, that was the coward or Roman's way out. He would not fall upon his sword.

"I will not." He murmured. "Even if Arthur hates…or no longer thinks I am worth the time." Contemplation of being ignored completely, however, had him fingering his dagger. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did not hear the footsteps approaching. He was not even aware of another presence until callused fingers carefully extracted the dagger from his grasp.

He looked up sharply to find Arthur by his side. His eyes widened and he pressed back against the wall. "Arthur." He was pleased to find his voice was steadying and did not show the anguish that twisted his gut.

"Lancelot." Arthur trained a steady gaze on him that gave away nothing.

That unreadability caused Lancelot's gut to twist tighter. "Can I do something for you, Commander?"

Arthur simply regarded him for several more long minutes, before he dropped his gaze to the floor. "You are not acting yourself, Lancelot."

The other was unsure of how to respond to that, so remained silent.

Arthur stepped back and leaned against the far wall. His gaze still on the floor, he said softly, "Have I frightened you that badly that you are suddenly submissive?"

Lancelot opened his mouth to protest that he never submitted to anyone, but Arthur cut him off. "Lancelot, I believe that the words you spoke to me earlier hurt me worse than any other in my life. Even I have my limits. You have that power to wound me with your tongue, because you know me best of all. It was because of that that I believed that you understood how I feel about the knights in my command. It was because I lo— It was because of our friendship that I thought you knew that. That you respected me as I respect you. I see now that I was wrong. I am sorry for forcing my company on you when you obviously view me as another Roman master. I thank you for not killing me the many times you had the chance, which I think you would have done to my predecessor. That is if he had even been so stupid to allow you near him."

This speech finished Arthur raised his eyes and looked at the Sarmatian for a brief moment. He pushed off the wall, no doubt to leave, when Lancelot spoke. "No!" Arthur froze and turned his eyes to his second again. "Arthur, no! I will allow you to walk away from me thinking that I hate you like the others. You are not just another Roman master! I do not hate you. You are the one thing that keeps me from…from truly ending up in the hell your God damns us to. Arthur. I spoke in anger. I knew what would hurt you. You looked so calm and unaffected. I wanted you to feel what I was feeling. You will never know how sorry I am, especially if my words have lost me my greatest friend." Arthur simply stared at him. "I am not afraid of you. I am afraid of losing you. That this will make you hate or ignore me. Although, you are probably the only person I would ever even consider submitting myself to."

Arthur's jawed dropped open at the dark-haired knight's words. "Lance, I would never ask you to—"

"And that is part of the reason I would consider it, Arthur."

"So it is established that neither of us hate the other and that you did not mean what you said. I will admit that I am not entirely sure that I would be able to carry through on the threat I made. So I beg you not to provoke me to. I think I would break before the tenth lash hit. And I cannot show weakness before my men."

Lancelot, thinking back on what Arthur had said to him, narrowed his eyes. "You love me." He accused in a quiet voice.

Arthur's pain-filled eyes widened. "I—"

"No. You said it yourself. Well, almost. You do, you love me." There was awe in his tone now.

Arthur turned away. "I'm sorry."

"I love you." Lancelot murmured, finally rising from his seat on the windowsill. "I love you, Arthur, and the thought of you hating me or not even acknowledging me was top painful to bare."

Arthur spun his eyes flicking wildly between the blade in his hands and Lancelot's gaze. "Never! You will never even think about that again!" The command in his voice was clear, as was the nearly hysterical terror.

"That is a cowards way. Do you believe I am a coward?"

The green-eyed Roman released a shaky breath and pulled the other to him, dropping the offending blade to the floor. A single tear slipped from Arthur's eye to trickle down Lancelot's neck. The dark-eyed man smiled softly. He buried his face in the crook of the commander's shoulder and held fast.

The sun set behind them as the two sought Arthur's private rooms and shelter from ever curious eyes.


	2. Part 2

**Something that explains why Arthur didn't ask Lancelot for his opinion after his issued Gremanus' orders. Unbeta'd. This is the end of this story though. I am 99% sure. Thanks for reading. Review!**

The twisting, sinking feel in Arthur's gut was not entirely due to the battle that had lost another knight. Although the thought of adding another sword to the sad, crowded little cemetery made Arthur ill, that was not responsible. It mirrored so much that day so many years ago when Lancelot had lashed out at him. The day he'd hit the other for the first and only time. The day he'd promised 30 lashes for a similar outburst. Arthur shuddered. He had a horribly sinking feeling. He sent up a silent prayer that Lancelot could hold his temper until they were in private.

Of course, like every other prayer Arthur offered up, this one was ignored. The doors to the castle had barely shut behind the last knight and the dust from their horses was still swirling in the air when Lancelot turned on him, a dark look of rage painted across his features. Arthur's heart sank and dread sent bile into his throat. He swallowed thickly.

"That was not a battle, Arthur, that was a slaughter. What could have possibly induced you to take us all out there into that farse?" Lancelot snarled, taking a step forward.

Arthur sighed. "Lancelot, you know as well as I that those were our orders. I had no way of knowing how badly we would be out-numbered."

Lancelot tilted his head and glared at Arthur from under his eyebrows. "Of course, the word of Rome is law. The word of your God is law. Law that gleefully kills pagans like us. Law that must be followed out to the letter, no matter how many knight get killed in the process. Arthur, you do not seem to understand that whatever your intension, killing pagans is the intension of Rome."

Arthur blinked. He was skirting ever closer to the line that Arthur had set those years ago, but he hadn't crossed it yet. Maybe, Arthur thought vainly, I can head him off. "Lance, you know I can do nothing but follow orders. Anything else would mean almost-certain death for all of us."

Lancelot's black eyes narrowed. "No, Castus. It would not mean certain death for you, for you are Roman. You number among the holy elite. You are of Roman blood. Nothing would mean death for you. You merely are allowed to choose which death for us. Suicide, death in battle at the hand of a Woad, or death in battle at the hand of a Roman. If it was ordered, you would kill us yourself, for your precious Rome. If it were an edict of your God, you would take your Excaliber and cut us down right here. Isn't it lucky for us that no such order has been given?"

Arthur held his breath and shut his eyes. Pain constricting his heart, he opened them and stared at Lancelot. The dark-haired knight's nostrils flared for a moment, before the weight of his words sunk past his own anger. The courtyard was frozen. Nothing moved, not even to breath. Arthur's promise issued five years before echoed through their minds as silence pressed in on both knights. Lancelot took a step back, his eyes widening.

Mordred, the youngest knight among them, stepped forward. He was a small, dark man, with hair curling into ringlets. Upon first glance, those who were not familiar with the knights often mistook him for Lancelot. Because of this, and his intense jealousy of anything that diverted Arthur's attention, of which Lancelot was first and foremost, Mordred loathed the older knight with a power that surprised most. "Commander, shall I fetch the whip for you?"

A ripple went through the crowd and set the other knights to murmuring. Arthur turned slowly to the younger man. He fixed a hard emerald gaze on Mordred. "Only if you wish for me to use it…on you."

Mordred shrank back and shook his head. Arthur turned back to Lancelot, who was still staring at him with widened eyes. "Joules, fetch me the whip and a length of rope." Arthur turned back to Mordred, who was now watching Lancelot gleefully. "If I hear a single word from your mouth, Mordred, I swear to God, I will double this punishment and then leave you tied to the whipping post until you can comprehend the meaning of comradeship and brotherhood. Am I understood?"

Mordred opened his mouth to reply and a lazy smirk curled across Arthur's face. The younger man snapped his mouth shut and nodded, before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Momentary distraction over, Arthur turned back to his second. He could clearly see the terror in the other man's eyes, but did not understand it. Lancelot had never been afraid of a whipping before. He'd received the worst punishments that the barracks had in its records from the previous commander. He remembered witnessing several of them himself. Lance never made a sound and never showed fear. An image of Lancelot, bound tightly to the whipping post, an arrogant sneer of disgust twisting his full lips as the whip fell heavily across his shoulders flashed through Arthur's mind.

Arthur frowned and took a step forward. "Lancelot?"

As he watched, Lancelot took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment. He opened his mouth and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse. "For all of this, Arthur, I am so sorry."

His black eyes flicked from Bedeviere's dead body, still slung across his horse, to the whip that Joules had just brought out. Arthur glanced at the whip and then back at his second and his own words floated back to him. _I beg you not to provoke me to. I think I would break before the tenth lash hit._ _I cannot show weakness before my men._ His own eyes widened and he nodded.

Lancelot stripped off his shirt and turned his back to Arthur, taking the dozen paces to the post. The courtyard held its collective breath when Lancelot dropped to his knees before the post, his head falling to rest against his chest. Arthur came forward and reached out to take hold of the dark knight's wrist. He pressed his fingers into Lancelot's palm as he tied the rope around his wrist. Lancelot flinched when the rope was pulled taut, as the end was fixed to the cross bar of the post. Arthur paused, then loosened the rope.

The looser the rope the less the whip lash hurt, because of the victim's ability to both relax their muscles and to move with the blow as much as possible. Arthur repeated the process on the other side and stepped back. Arms spread wide, Lancelot knelt, head bowed, before Arthur. His posture contrasted so sharply with the haughty arrogance of those beating Arthur remembered that he could once again feel the bile rising in his throat. He swallowed again. It had to be done.

Joules handed him the whip, pity filling his eyes. Arthur blinked at it and glanced around the yard. He could see that pity that mingled with pain in the eyes of all the knights. The Roman legion under his commander, as protection for the fort, did not show pity however. They were staring at him with something akin to scorn growing in their eyes.

Anger bubbled up in Arthur's chest, at the legion, at Lancelot for making this necessary, at Rome. Taking quick steps around the kneeling man, he raised his arm high and brought it down sharply, causing the whip to snap against Lancelot's back. Somewhere behind him a voice called, "One."

Lancelot jerked forward and arched his back. The bare flesh was already crisscrossed, Arthur knew very, very well, with lash scars. Now he himself would be adding to them. He raised his arm again and brought the whip down across Lance's bare skin. Pulling the ropes taut, Lancelot moved as far from the whip as possible, but did not make a sound. His chin was still pressed to his chest and all his muscles were wound tight. "Two."

This went on, mindlessly, "Ten. Eleven. Twelve." Blood began to flow freely down Lancelot's back. Arthur could feel the prickle of emotion behind his eyes and bile once again rising in his throat. "Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two."

Finally, he raised his arm one final time and bought it down across the red, oozing mess that was his second's back. Lancelot managed to swallow the cry that rose in his throat only by sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. There were tears pooling in his eyes that he refused to let fall. Arthur would truly hate him after this. Because he could not hold his foolish tongue, he had forced that commander in a torturous situation. Even when the voice called, "Thirty." Lancelot didn't dare even try to search out Arthur with his eyes. He was terrified of what this beating had done to the other man.

Arthur stared blankly at Lancelot's still stiff back for a moment, before his gestured to Joules. "Loose him. Take care of him." He said, very quietly before spinning on his heel and walking swiftly through the still open castle gates. He managed to reach that sad graveyard before he vomited. Pressing his hands to his temples, he sank to the soft grass that covered his father's grave.

For a while, Arthur held back the tears that had been pricking at his eyes since the five stroke of the lash. Eventually he gave in to them and wept for the pain he'd inflicted on the person he loved most in the world. Those tear ran dry and still he sat staring at the ground. He was completely unaware of the passage of time or the changing of the light. He was totally unaware of everything until he felt a light hand on his shoulder.

"You are lucky, Arthur, that it did not rain at any time in the past 48 hours." Lancelot's voice was soft, tinged with amusement, worry, and something that sounded like terror.

Arthur jerked and turned wide eyes on the man in front of him. His green eyes filled again with tears and he gasped, "Oh, Lance, I'm so sorry. I—"

"No, it is I who am sorry. It seems I am destined to hurt you whenever you need me most to support you. I am damaged by my hatred and my anger. You are, and always have been, the best thing that to ever happen to me. I am possibly the worst thing to ever happen to you. I can't help myself; I can't control myself. And every time that happens, I hurt you in some horrible way. I love you, Arthur. Which is why you either need to get me reassigned or I will simply go North of the wall, alone."

Arthur jerked to his feet, his movements painfully stiff and awkward. "Lancelot, if you go North of the wall without my command, especially by yourself, I will hate you for all the rest of my days, which will be very few. If you kill yourself, you will be killing me as well. Unless you wish the responsibility of my death on your hand and on your soul for eternity, do not even _think_ about such a suicide mission."

Lancelot turned away from the conviction in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Arthur. I…"

Arthur reached out a hand and laid it gently on Lancelot's shoulder. He turned the other back to face him. "I will not be having you reassigned. I will decide what is good for me or not, Lancelot. I love you. Loosing you would be unbearable. I have already lost both my parents and so many friends to this godforsaken land; I will not lose you as well."

Arthur reached up a hand and cupped the side of the dark Sarmatian's face. Running his thumb across the short hair of Lance's beard, he leaned forward and, heedless of anyone watching, kissed him deeply.


End file.
